What Doesn't Kill Us
by BuJyo
Summary: It's easy to ignore the past until it shows up in living color, then decisions must be made. It's been a hard year for Mary. Current events nudge her off the fence. ** Language **
1. Picture perfect

***** This fic was inspired by a number of things. Events in the show, events in RL and a commentfic-alooza on LJ. I've taken the commentfic I posted, massaged it a bit and turned it into a story. Mary's been on the fence about her father for a while. What happens when the truth is in living color and she decides to make a choice? Oh, yes, it's angsty. What else would you expect from me? *****

***** I do not own these characters...'nuff said *****

***** Special thanks to roar526 for her never ending support, encouragement and ability to read even the crappiest of crap I send her and say it might work! :) (and for the title). More thanks to rj_lupins_kat for potentially life changing advice and reminding me how good Marshall would look in nothing but jeans! *****

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_**Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels**_

_**The dizzy dancing way you feel**_

_**As every fairy tale comes real**_

_**I've looked at love that way**_

_**But now it's just another show**_

_**You leave 'em laughing when you go**_

_**And if you care don't let them know**_

_**Don't give yourself away**_

**- Both Sides Now, Joni Mitchell**

* * *

Marshall watched Mary still as she picked up the photo Brandi must've left on the counter. Something about her expression made him take a step towards the kitchen as Peter and Brandi continued to chat about gambling addictions and rehab.

"Mary?" he asked softly.

She moved around the counter as she stared at the photograph, seemingly not hearing him. "Squish, where did you get this?"

A laughing man held a small girl aloft as she tried to ring a brass bell on a merry-go-round. The little blonde girl was about three years old, full of smiles as her father lifted her. Daddy. Her eyes were drawn to the little girl's t-shirt. Pink. "Daddy's Princess" stenciled on the front in glittery, white letters. Mary flipped the picture over to see the date penciled on the back. 1982.

Brandi looked over and smiled brightly. "Oh! Scott gave that to me. It's Daddy with Lauren. Isn't she adorable?"

Marshall grimaced as he saw Mary's posture change. Peter, attuned to the sudden change in the air, watched Marshall for his cue. Something wasn't right.

"Well, nice to know he didn't have to wait very long to replace us," Mary said with a snarl. "She must've been born only about a year after he left." She remembered 1982. _So this was what he was doing the year we barely survived._

Brandi sighed, stood and took a few steps towards her sister. "Mary, it was a long time ago and I don't want to have an argument about Daddy. I'm just trying to fill in the gaps and the pictures help."

Mary laughed bitterly, "Fill in the gaps? You want to fill in the gaps? I can tell you all about 1982."

Marshall could see her hands shaking slightly as she held the picture. Her face was pinched. He hadn't seen her this upset in a long time. He looked over to lock eyes with Peter. _Just stay still_, he mentally telegraphed to the other man.

"I can fill your head with all sorts of stories about the adventures of Mary and Brandi after their Daddy abandoned them," she sneered, sarcasm dripping from every word. "How they skipped and twirled through life without a father to protect them. Singing and laughing as they rang little brass bells."

"Don't do this, please! I'm sorry I said anything," Brandi begged. She glanced self consciously at Peter. She now knew it was a mistake to leave the picture where Mary would find it. It was hard for her to remember the bad times, but for Mary they were very, very real.

"Doesn't it bother you, Squish?" Mary asked, ignoring her sister's plea; anger and confusion mixed on her face. "Doesn't it bother you that he was living a life of happiness while we fought for everything? Why did _they_ get him? Why were _they_ better?" Her voice rose with each question, emotions battling to the surface as she ranted.

"I didn't know it was going to piss you off this much," Brandi muttered. She reached for the picture. "Just give me the picture and I'll put it away."

Mary snatched it back and stared at it again while Brandi chewed on her lip and looked at Marshall pleadingly.

"Didn't you ever wonder where he was? What he was doing all that time?" Mary's expression grew darker as she traced the outline of the little girl. Daddy's Princess.

"Wonder where he was when we were digging for scraps of leftover bread in the dumpster because Jinx had disappeared for four days?" Mary growled, advancing on her sister as Brandi stepped back. "Maybe he was buying his precious new family cotton candy."

Brandi stopped retreating to fight back. "You don't know why he left, Mary! Maybe he had to go."

"Where was he when we nearly froze to death in that tent in the middle of January? A week of not knowing if we'd even wake up in the morning, Brandi. Huddled there like Little Match Girls without matches." Mary was nearly yelling and Brandi was crying. Marshall and Peter watched with grim faces. "Was he riding on the teacups with Lauren in Disneyworld? Basking under the palm trees?"

"He probably thought we were fine, Mary," Brandi yelled back. "Maybe he had to leave to keep us safe. Maybe if he stayed he wouldn't be able to protect us from something." Brandi was grasping at straws. Anything to soothe the pain on her sister's face.

"Protect us from something? Something worse than starvation? Worse than living in buildings where the rats would bite in the middle of the night? Worse than dragging our mother into the house and cleaning up her vomit?" She watched her sister cry harder and get ready to voice yet another objection. Fighting tears of her own, Mary tossed out the last volley.

"Something worse than Jinx bringing Robert home?" she snapped. Her voice broke.

Brandi paled, looked down at the floor and brought her hand to her mouth. Shuddered. "Stop!" she whispered through her fingers. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Mary stared at the picture again as her own tears fell into the silence. Marshall stepped towards her and she suddenly realized she and Brandi weren't alone. Anger quickly flared to cover humiliation, and Mary crumpled the picture and threw it in the fireplace as she stormed to her room. The door slammed and Marshall flinched.

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*****This is likely not going to a good place. What do we do when the truth stares us in the face? Let me know if you'd like to read more...REVIEW! *****


	2. Past lives

***** The men in Mary and Brandi's lives are often left standing around wondering what the hell just happened. This is one of those times.*****

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**_Have you no honor, have you no soul?_**  
**_What is it they're dying for, do you really even know?_**  
**_Have you no backbone, have you no spine?_**  
**_Whatever happened to, no one gets left behind?_**

– No One Gets Left Behind, Five Finger Death Punch

* * *

Peter stood to gather Brandi into his embrace and the sobbing woman pushed at him. "Let me go, Peter. I need to talk to her."

"Now's probably not the best time," warned Marshall softly.

"I can't let her think that I forgot about…" Brandi shook her head and walked down the hall to Mary's room. She didn't even try to knock, just opened the door and went in.

Marshall waited for the yelling. Silence. He didn't know if that was a good thing or a very, very bad thing. The emotions that had rippled across Mary's face while she was staring at that picture frightened him at some level. It looked as though she was breaking inside, and the fact that she had allowed tears in the presence of others worried him.

He reached carefully into the fireplace to snag the little ball of photo paper lying outside the reach of the flames. Smoothing it open, he felt his chest tighten. _Oh, Brandi. Why would you leave this out for her to see?_ It would've been kinder if Brandi had flayed her sister alive. Marshall felt his own eyes prick with tears for his partner.

"What set her off like that?" Peter came up beside Marshall and looked at the picture. "Other than the obvious buttons that Brandi tends to push."

Marshall glanced sideways at the other man. He didn't know how sympathetic Peter would be towards Mary. He also didn't know how much Peter knew about Mary and Brandi's past.

"Mary's father used to call her Princess," Marshall offered. He flipped the photo over to look at the date.

Peter would never claim to understand Mary, but the tidbit of information Marshall revealed resulted in a moment of commiseration. "I see," he said.

Marshall handed the picture to Peter to keep. "How much do you know about the girls' upbringing?" he asked the shorter man. They wandered back to the couch to sit.

Peter took a long drink of water as he thought. "Brandi tells stories that are more like adventures she's read in books. All narrative with a naïve point of view. Things tend to sound more realistic once she's talking about high school, but up to then it's…sketchy." He sat back to cross his legs and looked towards the back rooms. "She doesn't talk about it much, but I never got the impression that she was unhappy or abused in any way. What Mary said today made it sound pretty perilous."

Marshall knew Mary had protected her sister as they were growing up, but he hadn't realized how deep that had gone. Brandi probably _hadn't_ been unhappy. Mary had seen to that. Likely at a cost to herself.

"It certainly wasn't a cake walk," Marshall agreed. He peeled the label off his beer bottle as he thought about his partner's words.

"What about Mary?" Peter asked the pensive man. "What does she say?"

Marshall chose his words carefully, "Mary was thrust into the role of caretaker when her father left them. Her life was turned upside down and there wasn't anyone there who could right it. I think she threw all her energy into making sure Brandi made it through unscathed, and whatever was left she had to use to tend to Jinx. Mary didn't really have a childhood."

Peter rubbed his mouth as he thought about what Marshall said and what Brandi had been talking about ever since Scott came to town. "So, Brandi never knew her father and now has finally met those who would tell her the stories she's been trying to get out of her sister for so long. The problem is that Mary remembers too well the pain of abandonment and wants nothing to do with those who would come forward with tales of love and affection that were denied her."

Nodding, Marshall silently applauded Peter for putting the pieces together so quickly. "Mary didn't want to believe her father had started a new life. Raged against that thought for a while. She seems to have accepted it, but until today I think it was just something she could ignore. Other than strangers with claims to share her parentage, there was no concrete evidence of her father's transgressions. That picture tore away any illusions she may have harbored."

"They don't know why he left?" Peter asked.

"There's never been an explanation," Marshall answered. He avoided any elaboration on James' past.

"Hmmm," Peter grunted. "New life, new name, no contact with his past. Do you think he went into witness protection for some reason?" Peter looked at Marshall as if he expected an answer.

Marshall stared at the other man without expression. Assessing. "I wouldn't know," he answered slowly. "I don't know much about that program. It's obviously fairly secretive."

Peter blinked. "Right," he muttered. He knew what Mary and Marshall did. He hadn't built an automotive empire by being a stupid man. Marshall's answer and nonverbal cues advised him to back off, so he did.

"What do you know about this Robert?" he asked Marshall instead.

Marshall thought about the sisters' reactions to the comment with a sense of dread. Something bad had happened. "Nothing. Mary's never mentioned it."

"Why do I feel the need to exact retribution on a man I've never met?" Peter asked.

"You'll have to get in line," Marshall muttered.

Both men looked towards the hallway in anticipation as they heard the bedroom door open.

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***** Peter and Marshall slowly bonding a bit through the sisters. I've always thought they both must wonder what the other sees in the woman he's with :) What are those girls doing? Stay tuned and let me know what you think! Please REVIEW :) *****


	3. Bad bets

***** Brandi and Mary actually talk...without screaming at each other. Six years and a whole world apart. *****

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_**I know the truth now**_  
_**I know who you are**_  
_**And I don't love you anymore**_

_**It never was and never will be**_  
_**You don't know how you've betrayed me**_  
_**And somehow you've got everybody fooled**_

_**It never was and never will be**_  
_**You're not real and you can't save me**_  
_**And somehow now you're everybody's fool**_

**– Everybody's Fool, Evanescence**

* * *

Brandi slid into Mary's dark room and stood quietly as her eyes adjusted. She heard a sniffle near the bed and stepped over the sit on the edge.

"Mary?"

Silence. Another sniffle, then, "Go away, Squish. I really don't want to talk right now and I'm pretty pissed at you."

Brandi hung her head. "I know. But I honestly didn't think-"

Mary cut her off. "That's the problem, isn't it? You don't think. You don't think about what having Scott here does to me. What all the stories about Daddy do to me. You're so wrapped up in this fantasy world of us all becoming some big, happy family that you don't think about me at all. I want nothing to do with them, Brandi."

"That's not fair, Mary," Brandi countered, ignoring her sister's snort. "Scott and Lauren didn't do anything to deserve your anger. They were born just like we were born and it's not their fault our father left us. They had no idea we even existed. I don't expect we'll all become friends or something, but I think I can decide if I want to know more about my father. You never tell me anything and Mom was too soaked in alcohol to have any reliable stories."

"Don't try to blame me in all this, Brandi," Mary warned. "You read the damn letters and you know as much as I do. I'm not keeping things from you."

"You tell me things that he did, but not what he was like." Brandi didn't know how to explain it. "Was he funny? Did he get mad? Did he yell? Was he happy to see us when he came home?"

Mary was still reeling from the effects of seeing that picture as Brandi's questions swirled through her head. The betrayal in living color. Every fantasy she had ever had of her father coming back through the door and swooping her up as he used to was dashed with the image of another little girl hoisted into the air. Replaced. Rejected.

"He didn't want us, Squish," she whispered. "Why do you want to know about a man who thought so little of you that he walked away knowing he put you in danger?"

Brandi wiped at the fresh tears on her cheek. She knew her quest was hurting her sister, but she just had to know. "Because it's a part of me that's always been missing, Mary. I can't go through life thinking all my qualities came from Mom. God, that's depressing. I've always seen you happy when you would think about him. When you were reading those letters to us your face just lit up. I just want to know more about the man who could make you feel that way. I know you've changed your mind about him somewhat in the last year or so…with all the Lauren and Scott stuff, but when you think back to before he left, you were happy, right?"

Mary nodded, then realized Brandi couldn't see her as she sat on the floor with her back against the bed. "I was happy. He was my life. I knew I could do no wrong in his eyes, and he would pick me up in his arms everyday and make me feel like the most important person in the world. He used to call me his Princess…" She couldn't keep talking.

"Oh, Mary," Brandi sighed, understanding dawning. "I didn't know that. God, I'm sorry…again. I'm such an idiot."

"I used to pretend he was dead, you know. That's what I told my teachers and the kids at school. That he had died in a car accident. I couldn't admit to anyone that he had just left. It would've been humiliating. I probably didn't tell anyone the real story until I was in high school. At that point it just didn't matter what people thought of me anymore." Mary's voice was softer than Brandi had remembered hearing it in a long time.

Brandi scooted over to slide down next to Mary, not touching, but close enough to feel her warmth. "I used to tell people he was a spy and worked as a secret agent. That's why he was never around. I'd say he worked for the President and couldn't let his face be seen by ordinary people." She laughed self consciously after admitting that. "It made me feel special for some reason."

Mary chuckled softly. "You would come up with some grand adventure, Squish. You were always good at that." Silent for moment. "Daddy was good at making me feel special. So good I believed it. I still believed it for a while after he left, reading that letter over and over again. I thought I could wish him home and he would come for me."

Brandi sniffled and Mary took a deep breath, loud in the quiet room. She spoke again, "I truly didn't doubt him until Lauren showed up. I couldn't believe it at first…wouldn't believe it. It was all lies. And then today…that picture." She wiped her eyes. "I was never special. Just another fool."

Brandi reached out to tentatively take Mary's hand, not sure of the reaction she would get. Mary didn't pull away, but she didn't grip back either. "You were good at making me feel special, Mary. I want you to know that I never worried about much growing up. I knew you'd take care of everything…even Mom. You even made sure I had fun during the not-so-fun times. I don't know what I would've done without you."

Mary teared up again with Brandi's admission. "I never would've abandoned you. I could never do what he did."

"I have to believe he loved us, Mary," Brandi whispered. "Even though he left us behind for whatever reason, I can't imagine he didn't care."

"He didn't care enough."

"He must've thought we'd be okay," Brandi was trying to convince herself as much as her sister.

"No, Squish, he knew we wouldn't be okay, and that's what's killing me. How could anyone think their seven year old and one year old would be okay if they left them with an alcoholic who couldn't support them? That's what I want to ask him if I ever see him again." Mary paused to clench her jaw and take a deep breath. "He watched us struggle and suffer and never stepped in to help. Only wrote pithy letters."

She gazed towards her closet where the letters resided. How could she have read those and thought they were written with love and affection? They were poor attempts at a sad man's need to assuage his own guilty conscience. Shaking her head, Mary laughed sadly.

"What?" asked Brandi.

"Maybe I'm glad you showed me that picture," Mary said. "I think it finally cleared up a lot of confusion. Answered a lot of whys. He left us to move on to something better. Cut his losses on a bad bet and chased the next big winner. It must've paid out a little longer, but his luck eventually ran out again, didn't it." Her voice was bitter by the end.

Brandi thought of Scott and twenty thousand dollars. Thought of lugging around a suitcase full of meth. Of Jinx trying out for show after show and lying under barstools. Lives filled with bad bets and too many chances. Thought of Peter most likely waiting for her in the living room.

"I need to tell Scott to go home," Brandi said quietly.

"Maybe," Mary replied, squeezing her sister's fingers. "He's really not the problem. But be careful, bad luck runs in the family, you know." She took a deep breath before her next words, voice shaky. "He looks just like Daddy did when he left. I thought I had seen a ghost when I walked in that day. It's hard to look at him."

Brandi didn't know what to say so she just sat. She thought of the conversation in the living room. "Mary," she asked, "what happened that night Robert got arrested?"

Mary's thoughts swirled back to that cold night. Brandi was just six years old. Too young to remember more than bits and pieces of events, and the overwhelming terror of the night surely erased more. Mary grimly smiled to herself as she rose and pulled her sister up with her. She wasn't going to abandon her now.

"He met a fitting end…at least with us. We survived." She hugged Squish and pointed her at the door. "Go. Get Peter and head back to his place. I want the house to myself for a while."

"But Marshall…" Brandi trailed off.

"Marshall's long gone by now," Mary interrupted. "He knows better than to stick around when I get like this."

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*****Well. That was sad. The picture just cemented it all for Mary. Good to see Brandi trying to understand her sister's side of things and think about this whole thing with some caution. I wonder if Marshall really left? Keep reading...oh, and REVIEW! *****


	4. Dark stories

***** Your reviews have been AMAZING! I'm so thankful to have readers that encourage, inspire and make me feel like what I'm writing is worthwhile! I hope you continue to enjoy the story! *****

***** Brandi emerges mainly unscathed, but meets with a few more questions before she can escape. *****

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_**Answer me and take your time,**_  
_**what could be the awful crime he could do at such young an age?**_  
_**If I'm the only witness to your madness offer me some words to balance out what I see and what I hear.**_  
_**All these cold and rude things that you do I suppose you do because he belongs to you**_  
_**and instead of love, the feel of warmth you've given him these cuts and sores that won't heal with time or age.**_

**– What's the Matter Here, 10000 Maniacs**

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Brandi wandered down the dark hall and into the dimly lit front rooms. The fireplace had been stoked while she was gone and the orange glow of flames triggered a fleeting memory of trash barrels amidst the snow. Peter stood to meet her as she headed into the kitchen. Eyes blurry with tears and fatigue, Brandi focused on the task of getting a drink of water. She just wanted to crawl into Peter's bed and forget this night. Forgetting was easy.

"Hey," he said softly, stroking her shoulder. "You okay?"

She smiled tightly. "Yeah. You know, I was thinking I'd rather head out of town tomorrow instead of Saturday. If that's all right with you. Give us an extra day in Phoenix and…well…just get away."

"Sure. Not a problem. That's the nice thing about being the man upstairs. My calendar can be cleared very quickly," Peter teased.

"Hey, can we go to that one restaurant again? The one near that park with the really neat cactus?" Brandi asked, leaning into Peter and trying to lighten the mood. "I remember that being really nice."

"How's Mary?" Marshall asked from his seat across the room.

Brandi startled and put one hand to her chest. "Geez, Marshall! You just about gave me a stroke. I didn't know you were still here." She was uncomfortable for some reason. "Mary thought you left already."

Marshall had watched Mary's sister try to avoid the situation for a few minutes. She had Mary's knack for sweeping something under the rug so quickly you weren't sure you had actually seen it. The difference being that Brandi truly could forget what she had hidden under there…Mary never did. He decided he wanted a few answers tonight, and he knew Mary would be locked down tight. Brandi was an easier target.

"Seemed prudent to stay this time," he said. "Is she okay?"

Brandi shrugged and sidled closer to Peter. "She's…dealing. She wants the house to herself."

Marshall looked at her for a moment. "You know, I don't know what you talked about in there, but I can say I've rarely seen your sister quite as rattled as she was tonight. It might be best to keep Scott away from here for a little while."

Brandi cleared her throat and glanced at Peter for support. She had already upset Mary; she didn't want to incur Marshall's displeasure also. "Yeah, I know. Look, um, I'm really sorry about that whole argument and stuff. I really didn't know the picture was going to be such a big deal. Mary explained it to me and I'm not going to bring anymore pictures home."

"It's odd," Marshall retorted, "I keep thinking it wasn't the picture itself that upset her as much as it was the year it was taken. Granted, the image would be…unsettling at best, but I suspect something significant happened in 1982. Something that makes that year especially painful to remember?"

Sighing, Brandi bit her lip in thought. "I was six, Marshall. I don't remember much, you know. There are things that Mary won't talk about, even to this day, and I think some of those things happened then." She seemed lost in thought for a minute or two.

"Does anything in particular stick out in your mind?" Marshall asked.

Brandi tucked some hair behind her ear and crinkled her nose. "I know she didn't go to school much after Christmas that year because I had to walk there by myself. She had to repeat some of seventh grade. I remember staying in a lot of different places…being outside a lot. But I can't say for sure if that all happened then."

"What about Robert? That seems important to both of you," Peter asked gently.

Brandi was irritated. The quick escape plan had backfired and now both men were harassing her. She really wanted to get out of the house before her sister emerged.

"God," she huffed. "What is this? The Inquisition? Can we just go?" She looked at Peter pleadingly.

Peter stared over Brandi's head to meet Marshall's eye. The tall man urged him on gently with a slight nod. _Get the story_.

Rubbing Brandi's arms, Peter lowered his voice and caught her eye. "You were really upset. I want to be able to help and I care about you."

She sighed after a moment and then spoke quietly, "I just remember parts. Pieces, really. He was big and loud, and he hit. Mostly Mom. They fought all the time." She paused with brow furrowed in thought. "Mary would yell at them both. She would hide me in the closet, or under the bed. Sometimes she'd hide with me."

"Did he hit her too?" Marshall asked.

"I can't say for sure. Probably?" Brandi grimaced, "It all came to a head one night. I remember a lot of yelling, then things crashing and breaking. Robert pushed me down and Mary jumped on him. There was so much yelling." Brandi rubbed her forehead, narrative interrupted as she tried to gather memories. Peter stroked her arm. "Then Mary was grabbing me and pulling me down the hall. Robert was coming. She pushed me into the closet and tried to crawl in after me. He caught her and dragged her out. She yelled at me to stay. It gets really crazy in my head after that," she trailed off, pain on her face.

"You don't have to talk about if it's too upsetting," Peter said, shooting Marshall a warning look.

Brandi shook her head. "It's okay. I just wish I could remember more." She sucked air through her teeth and squinted. "I was crying and Mary was screaming…and screaming. Then she stopped and Mom started yelling at Robert and there was just a lot of noise. It was horrible. I remember thinking something really bad was happening but I couldn't move. The next thing I remember was the closet opening and Mom bringing me out. I guess the cops had come and took Robert away."

There was no ending scenario in Marshall's mind that didn't cramp his gut. "What happened to Mary?"

Brandi shrugged. "I don't know. I don't remember seeing her after Mom took me out of the closet. I asked her just now, but she avoided the question." Turning to Peter, she took a deep breath. "Can we please go?"

Peter helped her gather her things, gently coaxing her out of the house as he tossed back a quick goodbye. Marshall watched them walk out the door and leaned back to listen to the crackle of the fire. He noted that his hand shook as he reached for his drink.

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***** That doesn't sound good for Mary. Protecting her sister again and again. And Marshall's left to his own dark thoughts. As always, your REVIEWS are my reward! *****


	5. Old hurts

***** I want to thank EVERYONE for the b-day wishes today! I love this place :) *****

***** Mary emerges with a purpose. Will she allow a friend to comfort and soothe? Or have past wounds been opened too far? *****

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_**We believed that we could change ourselves**_  
_**The past could be undone**_  
_**But we carry on our backs the burden**_  
_**Time always reveals.**_  
_**In the lonely light of morning**_  
_**In the wound that would not heal**_  
_**It's the bitter taste of losing everything**_  
_**That I've held so dear.**_

**- Fallen, Sarah McLachlan**

* * *

The box of letters sat in the middle of the bed. Unopened. A container of memories that somehow now seemed small and sad. Mary had five things she had kept from her childhood. Five things that defined her. She laid the other four next to the box. Remnants, really. None of them whole. Either incomplete, worn away or missing pieces. Her life.

She thought of the photograph she held in her hand earlier. Thought of a table of photographs she had studied in a small house in California two weeks ago. Snapshots of existence that told of stories long forgotten and images she could not dispute. Mary remembered telling Marshall there was no happy ending to her story. She put her treasures away and picked up the box. She couldn't guarantee happiness, but she could damn well end this.

Marshall heard her door open and sat quietly until she appeared; unkempt and rubbing at her face, a box under one arm. Mary didn't notice him at first and set the box on the end table near the fireplace. She stood and gazed into the flickering light, fingertips of one hand lightly brushing the lid of the box. Suddenly, she stiffened and turned to look at him.

"What the hell are you still doing here?" she asked hoarsely.

"Tending the fire," he responded.

A heartbeat while she stared at him. "You need to go."

"You need me to stay."

"You're delusional, idiot," Mary snapped, no real venom in it. She moved around the end table to sit on the couch across from her partner. "I had a fight with my sister. Just like any other day of the week. I just happen to be especially bitchy right now so it escalated. It's fine. I'm fine. Go home." She knew he'd know she was off her game.

She was a terrible liar. Her shoulders tensed and she picked at her own fingers; eyes slid sideways and she'd shift her weight. This is why she stayed in the van on undercover operations. Marshall's lips twitched in a small smile as he watched her tells.

"Wouldn't you feel a little better if you told me what happened in 1982?" he asked directly, leaning forward to pin her with a stare.

"I hate it when you try to use Interrogation 101 on me," she sighed, shaking her head. "I'm exhausted, I know you're tired, and it's been a fucked up week. I just want to…think about some things and you need to go home." Mary thought of the letters. Marshall waited a few minutes.

"I know you too well to think that was just another fight," he said softly. "Something more than a little girl in a pink shirt got under your skin. I can only assume it was the date on the back."

Mary opened her mouth to explain it away and no words came out. The scenes were playing in her head and waiting to be told, but her mind balked. She leaned back into the cushions and ran her hands through her hair. It was tangled from the motions she had repeated many times this evening. Sighing, Mary's gaze drifted to the fire; captured by the dance of the flames. What to tell…what not to tell. _Why tell him anything?_

Marshall's pulse sped up slightly as he watched her. Decisions were being made and he had a choice. Wait, or push. He never knew which one to choose and mentally tossed a coin.

"Brandi thinks it was a bad year. Said it was hard. You were only twelve." Push.

She snorted softly, "Going on forty."

Mary continued to watch the fire as she let herself speak. "When I have days that kick my ass and send me crawling back into my bed, I just remember what being twelve was like. I remember wondering if I'd make it to see thirteen. If Brandi would make it to seven." She swallowed and her voice turned harsh, "And he was in Disneyworld." She leaned forward again to rest her elbows on her knees. Inspected her nails. Surprised by her own candor and unable to stop the words from flowing out.

"We barely survived that year, Marshall. And I'm not speaking figuratively. We were homeless most of the year, sick the rest of the time. Jinx was drinking even more than usual and she dragged us into some situations that were…risky. I was too old to ignore and Brandi was pretty. I almost called it quits that year. Almost called in the calvalry." Mary remembered walking to the police station with Squish in her arms. Barely walking. She had been sick for so long it was hard to walk at all.

"Why didn't you?" he asked.

Mary looked up at him and Marshall saw more than tiredness in her eyes. "I couldn't do it. They would've separated us. They didn't try to keep siblings together back then and I couldn't let them take her."

He watched her struggle with emotion for a few minutes; torn, himself, as to whether to offer comfort. Troubled thoughts rattled through his mind as he considered her words.

"Was Robert one of those risky situations?" Keep her talking.

Mary blew out a breath and flared her nostrils in disgust. "Robert. Jesus. That was a monumental fuckup on Jinx's part. Ended badly all around. He was an abusive asshole."

Marshall noted the flames dying in the fireplace and rose to add some wood. He didn't look at Mary directly, knowing she wouldn't want eyes on her.

"Brandi couldn't remember any details. Didn't really know what happened the night he was removed," he quietly prompted her. He wondered if their stories would differ.

Mary should've known Marshall would've asked Brandi about it. Probably badgered her into telling him. He wouldn't leave it alone until she told him about it. If he didn't get the answer he wanted tonight he'd just ask another day. Then again…and again. Mary sighed.

"Jinx hooked up with him because he would give her money. Basically, she whored herself out as a way to keep paying rent so we didn't end up on the street in the middle of winter. They were both loud drunks and he liked to hit her. Would make do with me if I wasn't quick enough to get out of the way. It got crazy one night and he went apeshit. Jinx called the cops and that was that. We moved out a couple of days after he was gone." Mary watched Marshall arrange the logs in the fire with the poker. The set of his shoulders conveyed his anger.

Marshall knew there was more to it. "Brandi said you were screaming."

"Mar-shall…" she nearly pleaded, rubbing her face with her hands.

"Mary, you know this will eat at me until I know what happened. I've seen too many things. We know too much." He was watching her now.

She shook her head even as she answered. Her words were rapid fire and emotionless. "He used me as a punching bag to get at her. He broke my arm and tried to drown me in the toilet. Jinx somehow pulled him off, but he nearly succeeded. The crap in my lungs turned into pneumonia and I was sick for months."

Mary remembered the pain of her poorly splinted arm and burning lungs. She squeezed her eyes shut to banish the memories. "It was rough." The couch dipped next to her as Marshall sat down. She didn't protest as he took her left arm in his hands.

She was a lousy shot on her left. He had always wondered why she seemed to have less strength in that hand; less flexibility and poor coordination. Nerve damage. "Jinx didn't take you to the hospital." It was a statement.

"No," she said. "Doctors ask questions. Nurses call the authorities. We had to pack and go."

No medical care. No antibiotics. Marshall knew Jinx had neglected the girls, but he had no idea she had nearly sacrificed them. Mary could've died, and he wasn't sure her mother wouldn't have left her lying in an alley somewhere if she had. One less burden. He rubbed Mary's arm absently as he brooded. Trying to soothe an old hurt as he tried to control a slow burn.

"Mary," he began, laying a hand on her back.

Mary stood, pulling out of his grasp. She brushed a few strands of hair off her face and walked back around the couch.

"I really need you to go now, Marshall. I need some time alone." She crossed her arms and glanced at him before looking at the floor.

His comfort was too much. She needed the pain to be real; wanted to hurt right now. Every insult and betrayal clearly defined in order to set her mind on the task ahead of her. There was no way she could bare her soul in front of him; not in the way she needed to in order to conquer decades of false promises and hope.

Marshall clenched his jaw as he slowly rose and regarded her. Her defensive posture spoke volumes and he beat down chest-thumping protectiveness. He didn't want to leave her here alone. Watching her, he saw her glance at the box repeatedly. There was something pivotal in there.

Mary was impatient and Marshall was still standing there. "Alone," she repeated. "As in, you're leaving and I'll be the only one in the house."

"I'd rather stay for a while. You're still on edge. I worry."

"About what?" she huffed. Mary rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I'm not going to drink myself into oblivion, and I'm too damn tired to hunt anyone down to shoot them. That leaves me and the damn le-…me, myself and I," she caught herself.

Stepping forward, she snagged his jacket and began to pull him towards the door before he could voice another protest. "Go, Cowboy. Go home and sleep. God knows you need the rest as much as I do. I'll talk to you in the morning. Let you know if I have any earth shattering revelations."

"I'm ten minutes away, Mare," he reminded her as he stood at the door.

She gave him a tight lipped smile and nodded quickly.

He put one hand on the doorknob and looked at her steadily. "Thank you for telling me."

Mary was suddenly self conscious and she felt tears prick her eyelids. "Goodnight, Marshall."

Marshall watched her walk back towards the living room as he let himself out.

* * *

***** She almost let him stay. Almost. But now the story is told and I hope some of you are breathing a little sigh of relief. Still awful, but... Are you still hanging in there with me? Please REVIEW to let me know how I'm doing! *****


	6. Burnt regrets

***** Kleenex alert (at least it was for me). Mary's paradigm is redefined. Baptised by fire. *****

* * *

_**Here's to the man of your dreams**_

_**Take it all in a box**_  
_**And make my way down to the shore**_  
_**Throw it in and begin to leave it to the waves**_

_**Leave it to the waves**_  
_**Leave it to the**_  
_**And leave it to the**_  
_**And leave it to the waves**_

**- Oceans, The Fray**

* * *

Mary stood and looked at the box of letters sitting on the end table. She knew what she was going to do with them, but it was like pushing through a wall of invisible dread to take the final step towards that table. What if she burned them and then looked around to find that there truly was no other way to declare her identity? What if she stood to move forward unencumbered only to be scattered like the ashes she had left? Who would remind her of who she was if his words were gone? Would he hate her if he found out?

"No," she said aloud, shaking herself and reaching for the box. "He sent these for him, not for me. I'm tired of giving him the luxury of not having to think about me because he did his duty."

Mary settled down on the floor in front of the fireplace, the heat of the flames warming her. She opened the box and gently stroked the papers within. White envelopes. Stationary of ecru, light blue and eggshell. One piece of lined notebook paper. The handwriting was the same on each; slight variances in pressure and pace caused by circumstance or age. The faint scent of paper and ink wafted from the open box and Mary closed her eyes. She used to smell every letter hoping for some whiff of aftershave or tobacco. Tried to envision her father scripting the page and wonder if he kissed it before he tucked it into the envelope; like he used to kiss her before tucking her into bed. "Oh, God," she whimpered, tears slipping down her cheeks from beneath her eyelids. _What am I doing?_

Reaching into the box blindly, Mary grabbed the letter on top. The most recent addition to the collection sent only two years prior. She opened her eyes to read the words. Congratulations on an accomplishment she didn't realize he knew she achieved. Generic career advice. Comments about Marshall. She reread the final lines.

_You've made me so proud all these years. Never forget I love you. A million kisses, the sun and the moon, Daddy._

"Never forget," she repeated. She remembered mismatched shoes and clothes two sizes too small. The smell of alcohol and urine as she drifted to sleep. Remembered leering gazes, cigarette burns and hunger pangs. _Never forget…the sun and the moon…_ Mary remembered lying on a mattress in the basement too weak to move as she struggled to breathe. She didn't see the sun or the moon for weeks. She thought of little brass bells.

"You pushed your luck too far," she whispered, resolve set as images of a pink shirt flashed before her eyes. Mary carefully placed the letter into the flames and watched the edges crisp and smolder. "You finally crapped out, Daddy."

The sight of the curling, burning pieces of paper released something inside of her and Mary began to sob. Years of frustration and anger worked their way into her tears and she allowed herself to let go of every shred of self control. The sleeve of her sweater became her tissue until she stumbled to the bathroom to retrieve a roll of toilet paper at some point. She continued to reach into the box and retrieve letter after letter, burning the envelopes also. Each letter was opened to reveal a snapshot in time, reviewed and found wanting, then suffered a slow death as flames consumed the words. They echoed in her head as she worked backwards through the years.

_Baby girl, I watch you walk with your head held high and feel a sense of pride. I always knew you had a strength about you. Knew you'd make it through._ Mary didn't know why he should be allowed to feel pride in her strength. She only became strong because of his weakness. There was no pride in being the daughter of James Shannon; her strength was her own.

She added a log to the fire as it began to die. Mary wanted every scrap to burn. Wanted the fire hot and hungry. Her initial uncertainly had been extinguished by a fierce need to erase every lie she had ever believed. Her fingers were dirty with soot as she fed the letters to the flames and her face was hot with tears. She stripped down to her tank top as she began to sweat in front the hearth.

_I know your sister can be challenging. She was like that at birth. Please watch out for her as you've always done. Make sure she is loved and protected. I know I can count on you to keep her from trouble_. Repeating the commandment from so long ago. The words that a little girl chanted to herself as she frantically hid her baby sister from monsters that were only too real. _Watch out for her…protected…keep her from trouble._ Who protected her? No one. He never asked if she was all right. Never wondered if the scars from all the years of protecting Brandi and Jinx were healing. There were no kisses and bandaids for her wounds. She was on her own.

Mary burned the pages with more haste as the night progressed. Their worth faded as the words on the pages no longer made her feel wanted and safe; instead provoking anger with their veiled attempts at laying blame at her feet and putting responsibilities on her shoulders that she should've never been asked to bear. Telling her he was sorry for her troubles; that he felt for her burdens and understood her tasks. Lies.

The box was nearly empty and the words on the page she held blurred with tears. He had known about Mark. _My darling girl, I was so sad to learn that you moved out and married that Mark._ Sad? Why? Because there was no one left to pick up his slack? Didn't he know she would do anything to escape the life he had handed her at that point? Did he think she would remain the little girl who held up her arms to be picked up forever? He didn't know her at all.

She cursed James Shannon. Cursed the Marks and Roberts of the world and the ruined lives they left in their wake. Cursed the sun and the moon with a ferocity that allowed her to tear the cardboard box to shreds. Gasping with sobs, Mary threw the entire mess into the fire and lay her head on the brick hearth to watch it burn. A smoldering scrap caught her eye and she reached in quickly to grab it. Blowing on the burnt edges, she read the words. _…and remember that you are so special. And know that I love you more than anything in this world and will hold you close in my heart forever and always. Stay sweet and warm and kind and funny and do great things_…

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Mary murmured. "I couldn't do what you asked." She crumpled yet another remnant of her past in her fist as her eyes wandered back to the flames. The flickering light continued to reflect off her face even after her eyes closed in exhausted sleep.

* * *

*****Cathartic at the least...life changing at best. Not much else to say...but please REVIEW! *****


	7. Tired cowboys

***** He doesn't want to go, but knows he should. Who's going to be there for Mary? I think we all know the answer to that question. *****

_**

* * *

**_

_**You call me strong, you call me weak**_  
_**But still your secrets I will keep**_  
_**You took for granted all the times**_  
_**I never let you down**_

_**You stumbled in and bumped your head**_  
_**If not for me then you'd be dead**_  
_**I picked you up and put you back on solid ground**_

**– Kryptonite, 3 Doors Down**

* * *

Marshall stood on the dark porch and stared at the door he had pulled shut behind him. Instinct screamed at him to stay with her; experience wholeheartedly stiff armed him from arguing with her. She was tired and on edge, and honestly, he was surprised she had been as civil as she was. Even more surprised she had told him the story about Robert without badgering or threat. It all boiled down to Mary behaving slightly uncharacteristically, though, and that always pinged his radar.

"Annnnd…if she catches me loitering on the porch I'll be handed my own ass," he muttered to himself as he turned to walk to the truck.

He blew out a breath as he settled into the seat, pausing before turning the key in the ignition. There had been a look in her eye beyond tiredness. A window to…sadness…that evoked memories of his own past. Of comforting witnesses or friends who looked at him the same way; haunted by the actions of the ones they had trusted. Betrayed that final time when forgiveness could no longer be offered.

The radio hissed and spit at him on the drive home; reception expectedly poor on this station at this time of night. The disjointed snippets of voice and song told Mary's story. Unexpected beginnings and endings with jarring periods of noise and unnerving moments of silence. There was no pattern, no rhythm to match and grow comfortable with. Start. Stop. Run. Hide.

He thought of the last year. The twists and turns of misfortune and fate that mimicked her early years. Abrupt, unwelcome changes that left her reeling. Culminating in a slow abandonment that left her standing alone. Marshall wasn't sure if Mary Shannon truly knew who she was without the detritus of the past gathered about her. She had been fighting herself and everyone around her for freedom these last few months, and he worried she may have found it tonight; only to now stand before herself with no direction.

The ticking of the cooling engine again engaged his consciousness, and Marshall realized he was parked in his driveway just staring at the dark garage door in front of him. Shaking his head, he levered out of the truck and walked slowly to the door. A pile of mail and two catalogues greeted him on the hall table; a tall glass of water called from the kitchen. Within a half hour he was comfortably ensconced in his recliner, remote in hand, when his eyes fell on his cell phone.

_Maybe I should call her?_ He deliberated with himself.

Sometimes it was hard to tell when her pushes were real. More than once he had looked a little more closely only to discover a cry for comfort buried deeply within the harsh words or hurtful action intended to drive him away. Tonight was one of those times, but he also saw a plea for understanding; for patience.

Marshall shook his head with a sigh and turned on the TV. He needed some mindless drivel to keep his thoughts from wandering back to stories of violence and pain. To keep him from forming plans to hunt down past nemeses to mete out justice long since due. How do you beat a child and live with yourself for even an hour afterwards? How do you watch your own flesh and blood struggle for air and cry in pain without committing murderous acts yourself? The plastic of the remote cracked in warning and Marshall released his grip to drop the device in his lap.

"A special place in hell," he murmured to himself as he again tried to focus on the screen.

_The sound of gunshots permeated his dream, and Marshall saw himself kick open a door to witness a scene that made him shout in denial. Mary floated face down in a pool of filthy water as Jinx drank a bottle of Bourbon and laughed._

He sat straight up in the recliner with the shout, remote hitting the floor with his feet. Taking deep breaths, Marshall tried to rub the sleep from his eyes as he oriented to his surroundings. A week of witness battles and one sideways transfer had forced them both to exhaustion, and he wasn't surprised he had fallen asleep in the chair. Glancing at his phone with a groan due to sore muscles, Marshall was surprised by the time; he had slept nearly three hours. Standing to stretch, his mind quickly replayed the dream and turned to thoughts of his partner. And that box.

The unsettling sense of being needed just wouldn't let go. Combined with the dream and look in her eye as she ushered him out…Marshall tossed caution to the wind and called her phone.

No answer. That could mean anything, and especially the fact that she just wanted to be left alone, but his gut spoke louder than his common sense at this time of night. Looking down at his state of dress, he only had to throw on boots to be decent. Keys in hand, he was out the door a few minutes later.

* * *

The house was dark when he pulled up and Marshall again second guessed his decision to return to Mary's. He had no sense of danger or impending doom, but just this nagging need to check on her. It was this behavior that that earned him pitying looks from fellow office mates, and even Stan at times. His willingness to come to her aid, defend her, even after she had dressed him down with invective moments before. And it had been worse in the last few months, especially after the breakup with Raph. She was hurting. They had mended a few fences after the relocation of Walter; the long drive and much needed time together allowing them to talk without distraction or time constraints. Mary vented. Marshall listened. He asked her for some considerations and she relented. It was better, and he knew she would try.

Maybe that was why her reaction to the picture had disturbed him so deeply. She had been wired so tightly for so long, and he watched the strength just seem to drain out of her as she traced the figures in the photo. She covered quickly with anger, but as he talked to her later in the living room he knew she was running on empty. No fuel to even evade his questions or muster up a cover story. He worried.

Marshall knocked once. Twice. No answer, and he considered ringing the bell. If she was asleep, however, he didn't really want to wake her. He just needed to know she was all right. He shook her key from his key chain and quietly opened the door. The house was silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and creak of the door as he closed it behind him.

"Mare?" he called softly, announcing himself so he didn't get shot. Nothing in return.

Marshall was headed to the bedroom when he saw her lying on the floor with her head resting on the hearth. For a moment his heart leapt into his throat thinking she was injured, but then he noted the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed deeply in sleep. He stepped over to crouch down next to her.

Her fingers were dirty with soot and there were dark streaks on her face where she had wiped at her eyes or nose. Crying, he assumed. Brow furrowed, Marshall reached out to brush a few pieces of hair from her face. She didn't even stir with his touch. He saw the charred piece of paper she loosely held in one hand, and his eyes traveled to the fireplace where scraps and remnants of other burnt paper products littered the ashes and hunks of burned down logs. He recognized the pattern on the piece of box lying there; the one she had brought from her room. More curious now, Marshall gently removed the larger scrap from her hand. Mary's fingers tightened reflexively and she sighed. Sure that she slept on, he smoothed the paper and read the words.

Marshall sat down next to his partner as his mind worked through what he was seeing. A letter from her father. Likely the one he had left for her when he walked out of her life, based on the wording of the few sentences he was privy to. He realized she had burned more; many more. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Marshall didn't know whether to feel anger or angst. Angry that she had lied to him about being in contact with her father; sadness that these letters had likely provided false hope of his return all these years. His thoughts were interrupted by Mary muttering in her sleep and shifting restlessly. He watched her.

There were those who wondered why he stayed. Hell, there were days he wondered why he stayed. But it was times like this, looking at her now, that he knew why he could never leave. They never saw this Mary. They never heard the stories or the unkind words flung at her by her family. Didn't know about the monsters in the past or the demons that haunted her now. Little Match Girl. He wouldn't abandon her like the rest; wouldn't leave her unprotected.

Mary shivered slightly and Marshall knew he should wake her and coax her into bed. If she slept like this any longer she wouldn't be able to move in the morning. Leaning over to rub her arm, he called her name.

* * *

***** This boy can tie himself in more knots than a Gordian orgy! But he's there...and he knows what she's done. Will she talk to him? Or will he be taken for granted again? There's not much left to our story, but please keep reading 'til the end! Oh, and please REVIEW! *****


	8. Open doors

***** Sometimes it just takes one person to set you on the right path. You just need a light to follow :) *****

* * *

_**Worry not everything is sound**_  
_**This is the safest place you've found**_  
_**The only noise beating out is ours**_  
_**Lacing our tea from honey jars**_

_**Why don't you rest your fragile bones**_  
_**A minute ago you looked alone**_  
_**Stop waving your arms you're safe and dry**_  
_**Breathe in and drink up the winter sky**_

**- The Lightning Strike, Snow Patrol**

* * *

Mary woke slowly and with little grace. Her nose was stuffed up and her eyes scratchy and swollen. She sniffled and rubbed at her face as her surroundings registered. Dark, cool living room of her house.

_What?_ she thought blearily, trying to make sense of it. Struggling to a sitting position, she was grateful for Marshall's assistance. _Wait a minute…Marshall?_

"If you rub at your face anymore with those hands you're going to be ready to party with covert ops," he teased, shaking his head as she smeared more soot on her nose. He knew she was confused and took advantage of the few moments before reality crashed down. "Let me get you a washcloth."

As Marshall disappeared to the bathroom, Mary shook off the last vestiges of slumber and stared at her hands with a frisson of fear. Slowly sliding her gaze to the fireplace, she let out a small moan as she realized it hadn't been a dream.

"Sore?" Marshall asked as he sat back down. He placed the wet cloth in her hands and she just let it sit there.

"I burned them," Mary whispered, eyes locked on the pile of ashes. "They're all gone."

He knew there was nothing to say. Slowly, Marshall reached over to take the cloth back and carefully wiped her hands. She let him fuss without complaint, just continued to stare.

Mary looked down at her hands after a moment, the coolness of the washcloth distracting her from her reverie. Her partner's hands held hers as he cleared away the soot; strong, tanned fingers nearly engulfing her own. Something she wasn't used to.

"I thought I told you to go home," she said quietly, remaining still.

"I did. Couldn't sleep."

"So you came over here to wake me up and keep you company?" Mary teased with a hint of a smile as she looked up at him. She took the cloth he proffered yet again and wiped her face where he indicated.

"If I had let you stay there you'd need a crow bar to get up in the morning. Then you'd be cranky and I would suffer. Seemed prudent to point you in the direction of the actual bed." He wondered how long she would avoid talking about the letters.

Mary wiped at her face a few more times then pushed herself off the ground with a grunt. "Now I'm thirsty. Want something to drink?" she asked as she made her way to the kitchen.

Marshall silently followed her. Mary tossed the cloth in the direction of the laundry room and walked over to pull open the fridge. She knew Marshall was waiting for her to say something, but she didn't trust herself to talk just yet. Didn't want to even think about it, yet her mind was beginning to loop through earlier events on its own accord. She wondered why he came back. Moving things around in the refrigerator, Mary tried to fill the silence that was making her anxious.

"I've got a little apricot juice left and some orange juice…and a half a bottle of that Fusion stuff. Jesus, there's enough vitamin C in here to cure a third world country. What the hell, Brandi? What ever happened to making Kool-aid? And the only beer in here is that crap Peter buys. He must own breeder's rights to those damn horses or something. Oh, wait, there's something back here-"

"Mary," Marshall cut her off. "Water's fine."

She froze, then backed out of the fridge with a huff. "You could've told me that before I went spelunking in there, numbnuts."

"You didn't ask," he retorted, watching her.

"I see," she said, now reaching for glasses. "You want all your options. So do you want ice or no ice? Filtered or tap? I guess I could offer you a lemon if we have one." Mary felt her control slipping; hard pressed to keep her mind on the task when images of burning pages were running through her mind.

Marshall heard the edge in her voice and saw her fumble the glasses as she set them on the counter. He stepped in close and placed a hand on her upper arm; waited for her reaction. She stilled, swallowed, stared at the countertop in front of her. He tugged gently and she turned, resting her forehead on his shoulder with a shuddery, deep breath. Stiff and guarded, but there.

She was so tired. This offer of comfort that he kept extending to her called so strongly that she could no longer reject it. He had come back. Come back to check on her…as he always did. She had been trying to push this man away since the day he walked into her life and he always came back. Mary allowed herself to lean into him and loosely wrapped her arms around his waist. She closed her eyes and sighed.

Never had he known a woman who had to drop so many barriers for a simple hug. Sliding his arms around her on her cue, Marshall pulled her in a little more tightly. "There you go," he murmured into her hair. She smelled slightly smoky. Charred around the edges.

Mary didn't cry; there were no more tears for this night. She breathed deeply of the scent of her partner. Fabric softener and soap with an underlying layer of toothpaste and…man. He was warm through his t-shirt and she unconsciously burrowed a little closer; slightly chilled in her tank top. He rubbed her back and she realized she felt put together in somehow; wrapped up and safe. Mary remembered a time, long ago, when she had felt the same way. She was surprised to hear his voice rumble in her ear.

"You told me you didn't have any contact with your father." Marshall felt her stiffen and just held on.

She relaxed when she realized he had put together the pieces and now thought she had lied to him. "I didn't," she answered, staring at the neckline of his shirt where a few chest hairs poked out. "The letters came randomly. I tried to trace them back a couple of times but there was nothing. No clue to where they came from. He never wanted me to find him, just wanted to remind me he was still around."

Marshall turned slightly to lean against the counter, taking Mary with him. She squeezed him tightly for a moment, then released her grip and turned to lean on the counter next to him. He kept an arm around her shoulders and she let him.

"And now they're gone," she continued. "I can't undo what I did and I guess that's a good thing. I've been chasing him and running from him at the same time for…all my life, and tonight I realized he's been hiding from me. And for good reason. Frankly, I have no desire to go looking for a coward." Her voice caught slightly on the last word.

Marshall traced circles on her shoulder with his thumb. He knew she was still convincing herself to let go of the man whose absence had consumed her for so long. This wasn't going to be over in one night.

"Jesus," she whispered, rubbing her arms. "What am I supposed to do now?"

He knew what she meant. "Live your life the way** you** want to. Stop throwing roadblocks in your path because you're subconsciously seeking his approval. Stop limiting yourself because you feel forced into a role he wanted you to play. You're so much more than he ever was, or ever will be. Live the life you deserve and don't let him define you anymore, Mary."

Tears pooled in her eyes with his words. She thought of all the things she had done because it was 'expected' or she thought she was 'supposed' to. Of all the wants and desires she had kicked aside and scoffed at thinking they were beyond her reach. Her father left thirty two years ago and he was never coming back. Nothing she did now would make him leave again. Maybe she needed to give herself a chance to succeed, or fail, on her own terms.

She leaned her head against Marshall's shoulder and wondered at the two of them standing in her kitchen in the dark. "What if I want something I may not deserve," she asked softly.

Marshall looked down on her head as his arm tightened around her. "Some things are yours despite your own tally of shortcomings. You just need to commit to accepting them."

"Sounds kinda risky," she said after a minute, glancing up at him with a small smile.

He smiled back. "Mare, you think the 'buy ten get one free' coffee card is risky," Marshall teased, grunting as she elbowed him.

"Hey," she protested. "You could lose that thing and then you have to start all over."

The deeper meaning of the statement was not lost on him. "I'm not going anywhere."

Mary suddenly felt a little flustered. A small butterfly of excitement managed to loose itself in her gut and the pile of ashes were forgotten for a time. She cleared her throat nervously and stepped out of his reach as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm a mess and I'm exhausted, so I'm going to shower and hit the sack."

Marshall was careful. Hopeful, but careful. "It's late. Mind if I crash on the couch? Or do you want me to go?"

She stared at him for a moment; thought of empty boxes and coffee cards. Reaching out, Mary brushed at a smudge she had left on his shirt and grinned at him. "No, you can stay."

* * *

***** Sigh of relief. A hurdle she's needed to jump for a very, very long time! Like Marshall said, it's a journey that will take a lot more than one day. Sounds like she'll let him help her...and that's a good thing *****

***** Again thanks to my friends for their encouragement and ready previews, reviews and many other views :D And I can't thank my readers enough for their fabulous comments and reviews! Stay tuned for more stories throughout the summer! *****


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